


you make my life sufferable (even just slightly)

by blueminecraftsheep



Series: mcyt brainrot!!!! [11]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Vomiting, tagging is fhcking shit idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29633178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueminecraftsheep/pseuds/blueminecraftsheep
Summary: tommyinnit is sad. unpogchamp.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: mcyt brainrot!!!! [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043928
Kudos: 112





	you make my life sufferable (even just slightly)

**Author's Note:**

> me when i project onto tommyinnit. yeah this is just word for word my life except my life does not have wilbur soot in it. Sadge.

_and if those nasty people_  
_try to make you feel small_  
_i promise that i'll kiss you_  
_pick you up and make you tall_  
_(i keep writing songs for people i'll never know, dandelion hands)_

there is yelling downstairs. too early for yelling, tommy decides as soon as he hears it. cant quite tell whats being yelled about, who's yelling, not through his pillow, but his dogs are barking, and he wants so badly to just make it all stop happening.

it's six in the morning. there is barely a ray of sunlight filtering through his bedroom window. 

the yelling stops with a slammed door, as abruptly as it started. his dogs bark for a while after that. tommy pushes pillow down over his ears, and he goes to sleep for another hour. 

he feels sick still when he gets up. he has school to do, gets through one lesson before the yelling is in his brain again and he thinks he's going to puke his guts out if he doesnt lie down in his bed right now.

he listens to a playlist of wilbur's, - it had been made just for him, a month or two ago - wonders if anyone is downstairs, if he could break something (or himself) without anyone knowing. 

tommy contemplates playing video games, but he can't play on the smp without someone trying to talk to him, and he doesn't feel much like playing single player, and his computer just feels so far away (even if it's less than a foot to his right). he goes to sleep again, with some quiet song by a band he doesnt know the name of playing through headphones. 

he's woken up by the noise of an incessant discord call. it's one pm. his stomach hurts worse, from hunger now more than panic. 

there are two missed calls from wilbur already, and one ringing in his ears that he declines, with a, "whAt u want wil". 

he doesn't plan on responding until there's another call started, and he picks it up, and wilbur's being loud in his ears. tommy gets out a tired,"what the fuck do you need, wil?" that sounds more like one word. 

"wanted to chat, were you sleeping?"

tommy consuders lying, but it's probably so insanely obvious anyways. "yeah. 's fine though, need to wake up before mum's home anyways." his stomach lurches at the mere mention of his mother, and, "shit," yep, he is definitely going to throw up. "i gotta- gotta go, wilbur." 

he barely makes it to the bathroom before he's vomiting last night's dinner and, when that's out, dry heaving until he's crying. he's vaguely aware of his phone ringing on his bed, but stays in near-fetal position on the cool tile for a few more minutes.

tommy's body hurts significantly less when he opens his eyes, what feels like days later. he's on his bed, and the blankets have been changed out for cleaner ones. there's a cold hand on his arm, and the sound of someone talking, on the phone or something. "no, no, you don't need to come home from work, i've got it. yeah, he's fine, he's okay. it's no problem really. yeah, goodbye." 

tommy's brain supplies him with a, "tubbo?" - he likes tubbo.

"it's wilbur." tommy smiles a bit at that, opens his eyes a little. wilbur is nice, his brother is nice. 

"hey, big man." wilbur laughs. "why're you at my house?"

"thought you fucking died or some shit, toms, i mean christ, give a guy some warning or something before you pull that shit." tommy winces, wilbur corrects himself - "i mean, like, contrary to popular i fucking give a shit about you. fuck, i care about you, man."

tommy hums, looks at the wall where wilbur isn't. he doesn't want to deal with emotions right now, doesn't want to deal with them ever, but thats probably what got him in this whole mess anyways.

wilbur sighs. "i'm taking you to the nearest tescos to buy snacks right now, and then we're watching hamilton, and if you don't let me, i'll call philza minecraft, so up you get." 

tommy sits up slowly and shakily, pulls on the nearest jumper (which he's pretty sure he stole from wilbur, anyways), and puts on his shoes without tying them. 

not half an hour later, tommy's curled up in the corner of wilbur's couch, watching george washington on the television screen. "i think americans are stu-pid," tommy says. 

"not all of them are," wilbur supplies. tommy glares at him incredulously, and throws popcorn at his face, which wilbur catches in his mouth. 

"you're stupid too." the words are laced with a, "thanks for this," that he hopes wilbur can catch just as easily.


End file.
